


Saviour

by slodwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slodwick/pseuds/slodwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IDEK, guys. This... might only make sense if you also watch Supernatural? Also, that's Craig Parkinson as Moran (thanks, Tumblr).</p></blockquote>





	Saviour

  


Jim came to staring into his own eyes. Not looking down on himself like some new age twaddle, but _across_ , as though he was sat at a table with himself. And somehow he was also staring out at London. The sun was setting behind the grey clouds, illuminating row after row of rooftops before him. He saw both himself and the city, but didn't get it. He blinked, twice. Hadn't he been outside a moment ago? That thought seemed important, vital, but his brain wasn't cooperating at its normal speed. Maybe _he_ was London, he mused. Had perhaps the whole of London been inside him all this time?  
  
Wait, no. That was weird.  
  
Ah-ha! At last, it clicked, like a piece of some great machine tumbling into place. That was a window. He was propped up in a strange bed facing a wall of windows, and he was seeing his own reflection superimposed on a rather uninspired city view. Where was he? Where was his _suit_? He gave his head a small shake, trying to corral all his slippery thoughts, but the movement caused a ripple of pain that went cascading down his neck. He gave a jerk, and that made the pain worse, so he forced himself to be still. He took several deep breaths, letting the surface of his pain grow calm.  
  
Jim's movements had made him aware of something caked on his neck, behind his ear; there was a unpleasant oozing sensation back there, too. He reached up to touch--careful, careful--and his fingers came away marked with dark, tacky blood. He sucked a raspy hiss through clenched teeth and closed his eyes. A concentrated slice of pain whipped from the back of his head, along his jaw, and down his neck. In the black behind his eyes, he could almost see it, the pain, wrapped around him like a long, constricting snake. With knives.  
  
"Well, don't stick your bloody fingers in it," someone said. The voice was deep, gruff, and sounded exasperated.  
  
The voice was also right. That was a gunshot wound. Another piece in place. He remembered putting the gun in his mouth, and-- _oh ho!_ \--the delicious look of shock on Sherlock's face. He must have pulled the trigger, though he couldn't now recall the sound of the shot. Or how he'd survived, if that's what this was. He did remember tiny drops of frozen rain falling on his eyelids. He remembered cold concrete beneath his hands, scraping his knuckles. But this was a mystery.  
  
Opening his eyes, Jim looked for the owner of the voice. Turning his head wasn't an option, so he searched the fading reflection of the room around him. Plain wooden floor, simple white walls. Apart from the bed, no furnishings that he could see. A black army duffle lay on the floor to the left of the bed, a closed door on the right. There was no one else in the room.  
  
He was about to speak when the voice came again, close, as though leaning over him. "Don't try to talk. You're not fully healed yet. Best you sleep for now."  
  
Jim felt a prickle of unease about this disembodied voice ordering him around, but he was weighed down by a heavy sense of weariness. Sleep seemed the perfect thing, the absolute ideal, like a steaming cup of tea on a cold morning, or a daylight robbery. Yet he couldn't shake his curiosity, and as the pain in his head subsided, he realized there was a fierce pain coming from his shoulder, as well.  
  
Ever so slowly, he turned his head. Even in the gathering darkness, there was enough light to see the raised welt of a burn, roughly the size of a palm, on his left shoulder. As if reacting to his gaze, the pain spiked; it took all his control not to jerk again.  
  
"What... " was all he managed, but his questions were apparently clear enough.  
  
"I did that," the voice said, farther away now. Jim waited to hear more, but the heavy silence stretched, long and unbroken, like the shadows that crossed the floor. But they weren't only shadows, he realized. A man stepped forward into Jim's line of sight; he seemed to come from nowhere, the shadows making room for him, swirling up and away in a distracting fashion. He was tall and pale, and he wore a long coat the color of gloom. He looked ordinary enough, perhaps, but Jim saw the dark, haunted beauty that shone in him. That had always been one of his gifts, after all.  
  
"My name is Sebastian," the man said. He stared into Jim's eyes as he spoke, and that prickle of unease became a thrill. "I'm the one who stopped your fall, pulled you back."  
  
Sebastian leaned in close again, grinning and whispered in Jim's ear. "You made a deal, James, and your work here isn't finished."

**Author's Note:**

> IDEK, guys. This... might only make sense if you also watch Supernatural? Also, that's Craig Parkinson as Moran (thanks, Tumblr).


End file.
